


Half Baked

by quartetship



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 10:52:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2465591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartetship/pseuds/quartetship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes figuring things out is as simple as baking a batch of cookies...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Half Baked

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Moami](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moami/gifts).



> Originally a birthday gift for Moami!
> 
> SUPER sweet - you've been warned!
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)
> 
> \--

"Y'know, cookie batter is really good."

Jean was pretty well known for statements that came so far out of the blue that they later became inside jokes. So when he offered Marco that remark while they were  _actually making cookies_ \- or attempting to, at least - it seemed pretty sane by comparison. Still, Marco glanced up from the recipe book and gave him a dismissive smile.

"Cookie batter?" He asked, setting the book behind him on the kitchen table. "Pretty sure it's cookie  _dough_ , you dork."

Not exactly a term of endearment, but as close as the two of them usually came, even when they were alone together. They were something a little past friends, not quite together, but definitely  _something_ \- something that made it easy for Marco to convince Jean to do things like bake cookies from scratch, when he'd rather be doing just about anything else.

Jean frowned and crossed his arms, looking down at the bowl of dough. "Yeah well, batter, dough, doesn't matter what you call it. It's good."

Marco nodded. "Yeah. So?" He pulled a spoon out of a drawer and handed it to Jean, motioning to the mixture ready to be scooped out. Jean dropped it into the bowl and shrugged.

"I dunno, I was just... thinking."

Marco raised an eyebrow and held back a laugh. "About cookie dough?"

"Uh, well kinda. I mean... Cookie dough is really good. But like... it's not really a cookie until you bake it." He pulled a narrow baking pan from the cabinet above the oven, laying it absently onto the counter as he looked back at Marco expectantly.

"I think  _you're_ baked" Marco laughed, knocking his hip gently against Jean's to move him out of the way, letting his hand drag across Jean's back pockets and taking his place to scoop soon-to-be cookies onto the waiting pan. It was the kind of little thing that  _friends_ probably didn't do - the kind of thing Jean and Marco  _did_ do - and exactly the reason Jean was having a hard time forming a coherent statement. He groaned and dragged a hand down his face.

"No, listen. I'm trying to say - it's like... you can have something really cool, and you can really like it, but after a while you kinda want... the real thing. Like actual cookies."

Marco nodded and spoke hesitantly, obviously not following. "Which is why we're gonna bake the cookies..." He slid the pan into the oven and glanced at the clock, then back at Jean.

"Right. Cookies. Yeah." Jean looked at Marco, at the sweat pants clinging to his hips that were definitely Jean's, and hooked a finger anxiously into one of the pockets to fidget there. He glanced down at the shirt he was wearing himself as well, an old one of Marco's that he slept in whenever he had the chance – yet another thing that  _friends_ probably didn't do too often. The little dance of looks back and forth seemed to register something with Marco; he stepped away from the oven, trading Jean places again.

"This... isn't about cookies, is it?"

"No, not exactly" Jean conceded. He tapped anxiously at the oven door handle, eyes darting around the whole of the kitchen floor until Marco poked him in the side with a wooden spoon to catch his attention.

"We've got a few minutes until this batch is done - tell me what's up."

Jean exhaled his response like a stuttering breath, a little at a time. "I just... I feel like we're cookie dough... right now."

"We're cookie dough?" Marco repeated him, but there was no mocking tone to his voice. He waited for Jean to elaborate, patiently.

And Jean tried. Words weren't exactly his thing, but neither was baking, and if he could do that for Marco...

"We're like - we're this really cool thing. But it's not the  _real_ thing. We're not... dating, or whatever."

"I didn't think you wanted to." Marco sounded a little defensive, but when Jean tensed up at the sharpness of his voice he reined it in, sidling up next to him and leaning into his shoulder just a little - just enough. Somehow he always seemed to know what that was for Jean. "Thought you just wanted... the cookie dough."

Jean gave a tiny nod, too busy chewing on the inside of his cheek to speak for a moment. When he finally did his words were slow, thick with the uncertainty he was wading through. "Thought I did too, but... I think I changed my mind."

Marco raised a hand to Jean's back, skating fingers over his shoulder blades and down his side until they were resting at his belt. There was nothing taunting in his touch, no teasing - just a gentle assurance that they were still on the same page. "So what exactly are you looking for?"

"I guess..." Jean leaned back against the counter, propping himself on his folded hands. "I think I just wanna have an answer when people ask if I'm single. I wanna hold your hand in front of people and take you to dinner and all that romance novel shit. I just wanna like... call you babe and stuff." He looked down at his bare feet and twisted his mouth nervously. Marco reached out to squeeze his shoulder, waiting for his attention. When Jean raised his eyes to him, he was smiling broadly.

"I see. So you're asking if you can call me babe?"

Jean shrugged one shoulder. "Basically."

Marco let his hand trail the length of Jean's arm, down his side again until it rested on his hip, pulling them a little closer together there. "Mm. Kinda like the sound of that, actually."

Jean hoped the heat rising in his cheeks wasn't as visible as it felt. "So... is that a  _'yes, babe'_ or  _'no babe'_ ?"

"Yes, babe."

Marco was chewing on his bottom lip as soon as the words had left him, stifling a smile, and Jean moved to wrap his arms around his neck and kiss that smile out of him. He pushed off from the counter behind him and felt something under his hands move, turning just in time to grab the falling bag of flour by the corner. The bag ripped, flour exploding all over him, the counter, and Marco, who had apparently leaned forward to help catch it. Once the air cleared they looked at each other, skin powdery white up to their elbows, and broke into relieved, nearly ecstatic laughter. Brushing his hands on his shirt - abandoning his efforts after realizing it was covered in flour too - Jean threw his arms over Marco's shoulders and snickered when more powder went flying from their skin.

"So fucking glad I asked" Jean sighed, a contented sound as he brushed fingers through Marco's flour dusted hair. He kicked the remains of the destroyed bag out of his way and leaned up to kiss along Marco's jaw, leaving little tiny trails behind his lips on powdery skin.

"Me too," Marco grinned, nudging his nose against Jean's. "So we're a cookie now?"

Jean nodded, and then froze as Marco's question rang a bell in the back of his mind. "Oh shit, the cookies!"

He wheeled around on his heel and popped the oven door open, filling the kitchen with smoke as he grabbed a towel and pulled the pan from inside. On it were twelve unrecognizable hockey pucks that might have been cookies if he hadn't been so distracted. He grimaced and threw the towel over them.

"God, they're  _totaled,_ " he groaned. "Told you I can't bake shit. What a fuckin' waste."

Marco shrugged and looped an arm around his waist, pressing words softly to the back of his neck. "Not a total loss.  _Babe_ ."

Jean shivered and grinned, letting his head roll back onto Marco's shoulder. "True."

"We can set the timer for the next batch if you want."

"Nah," Jean said quickly, grabbing what was left of the cookie dough. "I think we've baked enough cookies today. C'mere and help me eat this." He slid to the floor, his back against the still-warm oven door and pulled Marco down after him. They all but licked the bowl clean, sharing a spoon between laughter-laced kisses and holding flour dusted hands.


End file.
